


choked up

by Kalgalen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, except it's not sexual, it starts out as a joke and before you know it you get really into it, probably, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: It would be easy to step away and slip out of Elias’ grasp - it’s so flimsy, barely an actual grasp. He’s not actually trying to harm Jon - not at the moment, in any case. He’s just trying to shut him up.Well. This time, Jon is going to make him work for it.





	choked up

**Author's Note:**

> u know that feeling when ur datemate gets u into a nasty ship and u _gotta_ write something with choking in it as your first fic for a new fandom?
> 
> ...no? just me?

Elias’ fingers are loosely wrapped around his throat, cool against his flushed skin. It feels more like a caress than a warning; it’s a different kind of promise than the stern disapproval Elias usually reserves him, and it’s comforting in a sense - that Jon could push him further than a simple clipped reprimand as if Jon was nothing but a noisy child and Elias was the responsible adult who has serious matters to attend to,  _here, go read a statement and be quiet._

It would be easy to step away and slip out of Elias’ grasp - it’s so flimsy, barely an actual grasp. He’s not actually trying to harm Jon - not at the moment, in any case. He’s just trying to  _shut him up._

Well. This time, Jon is going to make him work for it.

“What good is a threat if you never makes good on it?” Jon rasps, staring straight in Elias’ eyes - waiting for surprise, maybe confusion, embarrassment.

Elias’ eyebrow goes up, slightly. The corner of his mouth goes higher.

“It’s not in my intentions to actually disable you, Jon. I’m never going to permanently hurt you, I just wish - I just wish you weren’t so  _persistent._  I won’t answer you, not when you can find out those things by yourself.” His smile deepens, and his fingers tighten imperceptibly around Jon’s throat. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the monsters?”

Jon can’t help but laugh, and he catches Elias’ wrist - to stabilize himself, to keep Elias in place - as an attempt to prove to himself that he, too, can have an active part in this game they’re playing.

“They, at least,” he says, challenging, “always keep their promises when it comes to punishment.”

At that, Elias’ eyes widen, and it might be the first time Jon has seen him truly taken aback; his grip loosens, just a bit, and Jon has a second to worry that he made it awkward - though it’s an illogical thought, really, because he’s far past worrying about embarrassing situations at work - before he sees the amusement - the  _interest_  - in Elias’ gaze.

“Oh? That’s what you’re looking for, then? Punishment? Don’t answer that,” he adds, and his fingers tighten once again around Jon’s throat, this time with purpose. “I  _know._ ”

The air shifts imperceptibly around them, heavy, expectant. Jon goes along willingly when Elias switches their positions, makes him back up until the back of his thighs hit the edge of Elias’ desk, and he automatically lets go of Elias’ arm to catch himself on the smooth wooden surface. The hold on his windpipe is increasing bit by bit, steady, relentless, and Elias is looking at him with something between curiosity and - tenderness?  _No, that’s not right._  Can’t be.

The pressure builds up unwaveringly, and it’s not long before Jon starts struggling to take air in. The breaths he does manage to drag in are thin, long and probably hiss painfully in the watchful silence of the office, but he can barely hear anything except for the blood pulsing in his ears. Even though, his brain keeps analyzing and recording for future use - the building ache in his chest, the burning in his throat, the powerless panic threatening to overtake him - his role still a constant despite the danger. He reaches again for Elias’ arm, clawing at his sleeve in an attempt to grab it; seeing this, Elias dips closer, closer, until his mouth is right next to Jon’s ear, close enough that he can hear Elias’ voice over the frantic thumping of his own heartbeat.

“If you want me to stop, Archivist, you’re going to have to _ask._ ”

Jon would snap back something about that particular course of action being somewhat hard to follow with his air supply cut off by Elias’ hand, but he’s effectively unable to get a word out - or to think about anything witty to say, for that matter. Each breath he swallows is poorly oxygenated and disappointing, and he can’t shake the certitude that Elias is  _allowing_  him to take them; as fruitless as they are, they delay the inevitable, offer the tiniest bit of resistance against the darkness slowly enveloping Jon.

The reflection of an escape, a door Elias can close anytime.

Elias is still watching him, although from much closer now, his breath hot on Jon’s face. It might be the lack of oxygen driving Jon to seeing things that aren’t there, or maybe the layer of tears blurring his vision, but his boss doesn’t seem quite as put together as usual - the control slipping away, something else showing on his face - fascination, wantonness,  _hunger._

In his mind sparks up the very real possibility that Elias might kill him, here and there, without a second thought.

He’s clutching at Elias’ wrist with both hands now - doesn’t know when the second joined the first, doesn’t know anything beside the fact that he needs to get this vice away from his throat now or he will die, just as Leitner did, just as Gertrude did, at the hands of this inscrutable man. He’s aware of the stream of tears on his cheeks, hot and relentless, similar in this regard to the push of Elias’ body against his, his world reduced to the hand against his throat and the two keen eyes on him.

He thinks he can feel Elias’ other hand cradling his head, a thumb running pensively against the edge of his jaw - and he’s probably further gone than he thought, because he could swear Elias is leaning down again - except that this time, instead of talking, he presses a kiss to Jon’s cheek, and sighs.

Suddenly he releases his grip, and Jon gasps for air, sucking in desperate breaths between coughs - and Elias stays right there the whole time, holding him upright when it seems like his legs are going to give out from under him. When the fog clears, eventually - when his brain is oxygenated enough to assess his situation, his own fingers tight around Elias’ lapels, Elias’ hands running reassuringly against his arm, carding through his hair - he stumbles away from the desk, away from Elias’ space, and hopefully in direction of the door.

Elias lets him. His eyes are still fixed on Jon, but he doesn’t move from his spot in front of the desk. He turns around to lean against the edge of it, mirroring Jon’s position just a handful of seconds ago, and crosses his arms.

“What did we learn about asking for more than you can take, then?”

Jon glares at him, rubbing at his sore throat in an effort to dissipate the marks he’s sure have appeared there, scrubbing at his cheeks to wipe away the drying tears.

“Go to hell, Elias.”

Elias shrugs, unimpressed, and inspects his fingernails.

“Hell? You know there are places far worse than hell. Beside, isn’t it what you wanted?” The eyes he turns on Jon are suddenly sharper than broken glass, sharper than a coroner’s scalpel, and his voice takes on a dangerous edge. “The danger, the control - the  _helplessness._  You don’t hate it as much as you pretend you do.”

Whatever protests Jon might have been able to come up with die on his tongue, because there’s no point in lying to an omniscient being, is there? He stares daggers at Elias’ overly pleasant smile instead and, when he’s certain his legs will carry him, he starts backing away - slowly, carefully, a rabbit before the fox. Elias lets him. He only raises his voice again when Jon reaches for the door handle.

“I’ll see you soon, Jon. In the meantime, I  _will_  be keeping an eye on you.”

Jon doesn’t answer and closes the door behind him none too gently, only too eager to get out and away from the place.

The thought makes him laugh - humorless, hollow.

As if he could.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on tumblr @kalgalen so drop by bc i draw too :eyes:


End file.
